


in case you don't live forever

by localswordlesbian



Series: sweet tooth for you [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Canon Gay Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everybody Lives, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Male Character, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, fuck off writer's block i'm gonna write jonmartin, mag200 approaches and i'm not ready, what do you mean these fics aren't cannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:02:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29120904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localswordlesbian/pseuds/localswordlesbian
Summary: Martin panics when he notices Jon's eyes open as he sleeps, forcing him to remember a horrible six months in a hospital with so much uncertainty. Afterwards, Jon introduces Martin to one of he and Georgie's university traditions – stick poke tattoos.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: sweet tooth for you [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120133
Comments: 10
Kudos: 84





	in case you don't live forever

The sun was rarely enough to wake Martin up.

Normally, he’d set himself an alarm, but more often than not Jon would wake up before his alarm anyway and he would much rather wake up to Jon shaking his arm and saying his name than some stupid, blaring alarm.

That morning, though, Martin woke up first. The sky was still dark, with the barest hint of the orange of sunrise peeking in through the curtains and tinting the dark floors. He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes blearily as his vision focused on the slumbering figure next to him.

His heart leapt into his throat and he couldn’t hold in a gasp as he saw Jon, lying on his side with a hand on the pillow next to where Martin’s head had been, eyes wide open and staring at nothing.

Martin was suddenly back beside that hospital bed, watching Jon stare at the ceiling, all but dead – Martin gripping his cold, cold hand, begging himself not to cry and Jon to wake up, please wake up, I need you–

He was back in his bedroom, heart thundering, silent tears trekking down his cheeks and dripping onto his pyjamas, his hands shaking as an uncontrollable shiver passed through his entire body and he clasped a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle his sobs.

Jon’s face was stoic in sleep, and Martin slowly reached a hand out, hovering over where his pulse would be, if he wasn’t dead. If he hadn’t slipped away from Martin while they slept, and this time, not to return to life – to him. His hands still shaking, he placed two fingers delicately against Jon’s neck, because he had to check, he had to know, he had to–

There, beneath his fingers, was a pulse. Martin released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and he tried desperately to contain his sobbing, sobs of relief that flooded through his veins at the realization that the man he loved was alive.

“Martin?”

He heard Jon’s voice breaking through his panic a moment before he felt hands taking his and squeezing his fingers tightly. He focused on that sensation, the feeling of his own knuckles digging into his skin, of Jon’s hands enveloping his own with a gentle firmness, a grounding force that said  _ I’m here, don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere _ .

Once his heartbeat had calmed into a manageable beat, he opened his eyes. Jon was sitting in front of him, still holding onto his hands, looking at him with such worry in his eyes that Martin’s heart twisted. “Are you okay?”

Martin nodded slowly, squeezing Jon’s hands. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“What for?”

“Waking you, I guess.”

“Martin,” Jon said, his voice painfully gentle. “Don’t– please don’t apologize.”

Martin choked down another apology, forcing himself to look at Jon. His eyes were open and expressive, not that blank stare of both sleep and death; his brows furrowed and even in the dark Martin could tell he was frowning. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Jon pursed his lips. “I was– I did it again, didn’t I?”

Martin nodded. “It’s not… I know you can’t control it, I just… every time I see it, I’m back in that hospital room all over again.”

Jon nodded, leaning forward and resting his forehead against Martin’s chest, his head just under Martin’s chin. “I’m sorry, love.” he murmured.

Martin snorted. “It’s not your fault, it’s not like you asked to die.”

Jon hummed. “I know. I suppose it just felt appropriate to say.”

They held each other as the sun began to trickle its way into the room, orange light spilling onto the floor and the fear began to ebb from Martin’s chest. He knew, logically, that Jon sometimes still slept with his eyes open and that didn’t mean he’d suddenly died in his sleep, but he could never seem to shake that fear – he’d seen what Jon looked like dead, and the two didn’t look different enough for comfort.

Eventually they stood, feeling as close to okay as they could get. As Jon ran his hands through his hair, Martin noticed something peeking out from behind his ear.

“Jon?” he called. “What’s that? Behind your ear?”

Jon seemed to instinctively move his hand up over the spot Martin was pointing to, his expression surprised. “Oh, that. It’s, well, it’s kind of a funny story, actually. In university, Georgie went through a phase of learning how to do stick-poke tattoos. She taught me to do them and we gave each other new ones as soon as the old ones wore off. One day, on our first day of our last year, she convinced me to pick a favourite one to get tattooed. I wanted one that wouldn’t be too visible, so I got it behind my ear.”

Martin gaped at him. “You have a  _ tattoo _ ?” he demanded.

Jon chuckled. “I’m a man of many mysteries,” he teased.

Martin rolled his eyes. “To know and never be known, what an existence,” he deadpanned, and Jon laughed. “Come here and let me see it.”

Jon smiled as he walked over, moving his hair aside so Martin could get a better look at the lines of ink behind his ear. It was a design of a simplistic cassette tape, with spools of tape spilling from the top and creating a loopy heart pattern above it.

“It was Georgie’s design,” Jon explained softly. “Feels a little ironic now,” he said with a laugh. “And yet, I can’t bring myself to regret it.”

Jon was standing in front of where Martin was sitting on the bed, hardly having to lean down to make the tattoo eye level with Martin. Leaning up slightly, Martin pressed his lips to the ink briefly before smiling up at Jon. “It’s pretty.”

Jon nodded, pushing his hair behind his ear. “Yes. In fact, I think I still remember how to do stick-poke tattoos,” he mused.

Martin smirked. “Are you implying something?”

Jon smacked his shoulder. “Arse.”

“Coming from you.”

Jon curled a strand of Martin’s hair around his finger – the pink was starting to fade, and Martin wondered if he should redye it. He liked the pink. “I think it’d suit you.”

Martin considered for a moment. He’d never thought about tattoos, never thought there would be anything he’d want on his body forever, but he supposed something temporary…

“Okay,” he said. “Sure.”

That was how they ended up on the bathroom floor, hardly more than an hour after dawn, with Jon dipping a needle into a bottle of ink, because  _ of course you just had that lying around, Jon _ . “What design do you want?” Jon asked.

Martin considered for a moment. It’s not like it was consequential – just a small, temporary tattoo on his ankle, easily covered by a sock if needed. “Surprise me.”

Jon considered for a moment before setting to work. Martin hissed as the needle punctured his skin, though he waved off Jon’s concern. The needle stung each time Jon stuck it in his ankle, though he quickly adjusted to the pain as Jon worked, concentrating on making sure he didn’t mess up the design. Martin sat back on his hands. “How exactly did this little tradition with Georgie come about?” he asked.

Jon thought for a moment. “She was stressed about an exam one night,” he said. “Said she needed to do something with all her pent-up energy instead of stewing in it. So she learned how to do these as a form of stress relief, and when I commented on it she insisted on giving me a couple, too. I guess it just stuck from there – they always faded after a while, so there was no real commitment issue, and they were fun.”

Martin chuckled. “Sounds like you were a real enigma in university,” he mused.

Jon laughed. “Certainly compared to now.”

Martin watched Jon’s hands as he worked with deftly injecting the ink under his skin. “I never got to go to university,” he mused. “Despite how stressful it sounds, I think I would have liked to go.”

Jon looked up at him. “Why don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s not like it’s ever really too late to go to school. You could enroll now, part time or full time, study something you love. Major in poetry.”

“If you didn’t have a needle to my ankle, I’d smack you.”

Jon chuckled. “I mean it. You could have that experience you never got to have.”

Martin considered this. He’d never thought about going to school as a grown adult, taking classes and exams and having fun with other students – that particular part of growing up had been stolen from him too soon. He imagined getting up in the morning, grabbing his tea to go, walking across a campus with books in his arms on his way to a class where he’d get to discuss… something. “I suppose I could… give it a try,” he said slowly.

Jon gave him an encouraging smile as he sat back, depositing the needle. “Well, it’s done.”

Martin looked at the design on his ankle – it was a looping cursive design, branching off and creating separate designs of flowers and stars as it turned in a circle like an intricate ouroboros. Despite knowing it was written in English, Martin had no clue what it said, and he expressed as much to Jon.

Jon ducked his head. “It, uh… it says  _ I see you _ .”

A lump formed in Martin’s throat as tears welled in his eyes. He wanted to make a joke, a comment about how corny it was, but all that came out was a choked “Jon,” and then Jon had his arms around him and his face was buried in Jon’s hair. “I love you,” he whispered.

Jon rubbed his back soothingly, knowing what those words meant to him – they meant he was not alone, that he had someone in this world who cared for him, who would never let him forget how loved he was.

They both knew that, even once the ink faded from his skin, those words would ring through for the rest of their lives. Jon saw him, back then when he was lost and broken and desperately in need of a hand to hold, and Jon supplied that hand with patience and love. Martin did the same for Jon, those days where his guilt got the better of him, when he was left feeling empty and meaningless in the aftermath of his powers.

Later that week, tattoo still fresh on his ankle, Martin looked up at Jon over his tea. “I’m going to apply to the University of London.”

Jon gave him a soft smile. “Good, good,” Jon murmured. “I’m really proud of you, Martin.”

Martin smiled back. “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been having a lot of pain in my hands so I haven't been able to write for like a week :') I am going to suffer for this tomorrow but it was worth it. This does also mean my updates on At Last I See the Light will be even slower than usual since I can't really sit down and type out 2k word chapters with this much pain in my hands, so sorry about that!  
> Thank you to everyone who's shown so much love to the other fics in this series, reading your comments makes me so happy and really inspires me to write more! If anyone has any mini one-shot jonmartin fic ideas, feel free to comment them, I might get around to it!  
> Thank you again for reading, I love each and every one of you <3


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